XVI

  Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne
  Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud,
  Nor view of him who sate thereon allow'd;
  But all the steps and ground about were strown
  With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone
  Ever put on; a miserable crowd,
  Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
  "Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan."
  I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapours gave
  Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one
  Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,
  With her face up to heaven; that seem'd to have
  Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;
  A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!